It's Easier to Talk to Ghosts Than Girls
by Perpetual Food Coma
Summary: "She's so pretty," Lucy moaned. "Like, it's unfair for any one human being to be that inconceivably pretty." "Unbelievable," George said. "All this time you've been gripping about Holly Munro, and it's because you've had a crush on her?"


It's Easier to Talk to Ghosts Than Girls

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own or am affiliated with Lockwood & Co in any way. However, if you're reading this Jonathan Stroud, I believe I can make a very good assistant brewing your tea and rubbing your feet during those long days of writing. Call me anytime.

* * *

Lucy wasn't sure how she ended up trapped in 35 Portland Row with Holly for the day.

The morning had started out innocuously enough. The sun had already risen by the time Lucy stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen in search for a cup of tea. Despite the open window, the smell of frying bacon and eggs lingered in the room. Lucy's stomach growled in response. She looked hopefully at the stove top, but found only an empty cast iron skillet sitting on the electric coils, its bottom still slick with hot grease.

Agents, because of their nocturnal nature of their jobs, never woke up early if they could help it. In Lucy's case, the night she spent on the creaky downstairs sofa hadn't done her sleep any favors. She woke up groggy and ill-rested. Although George had already dragged out all of his experimental trinkets from her former bedroom, she had yet to move all her things back. Her clothes, her books, and even her mattress still remained at her old apartment. The only things she had brought with her to Portland Row were the rapier Lockwood had given her and a duffle bag crammed with magnesium flares and salt bombs. Belatedly, she realized that everything else would be arriving later that day.

Lockwood, in an unusual moment of sanity, had given everyone the weekend off. Perhaps their recent trials exhausted him more than Lucy realized, or perhaps no clients remained on the docket that week. Whatever the reason, Lucy had been looking forward to savoring a day of normalcy, when everyone could just gather around the table to enjoy some biscuits and tea together.

Her plan lasted until she saw Lockwood, already dressed in his too-tight suit even on his day off, halfway out the door with a half-eaten biscuit stuffed in his mouth.

"Sorry, gotta dash, Luce!" he said, voice muffled by the biscuit. "Ferraby's have an exhibition for their new line of rapiers later this afternoon! Do you mind taking care of dinner for tonight?" Then he was bounding out the door before Lucy even had to chance to wish him good morning.

Fifteen minutes later, George was trudging down the stairs with a light backpack in tow. Lucy looked up from the milk swirling around her cup of tea, eyes lingering on his bag.

"Going somewhere?"

George shrugged. "Thought I'd go visit my mum out east. Haven't seen her in a few months."

"Oh." Lucy didn't know what to say in response to that. Agents, in addition to not being morning people, often weren't very good at being family people. She herself hadn't visited home ever since leaving her mother and sisters for London. Lockwood, of course, had no one left to visit. "Well, have fun then."

George offered her a little wave as he left. For a few minutes, she sat alone in the kitchen sipping her tea. It would be awhile before the moving van with all her stuff was due, and she had some time to kill. Feeling listless, she restocked all her flares and bombs. She polished the rapier. She even scrubbed clean all the dishes that George had left to fester in the sink after last night's dinner in a moment of charitable weakness.

No sooner had she finished then she heard a knock on the door. It turned out to be the deliveryman, a pimply young fellow who helped her move all the boxes to the doorstep and promptly fled when she turned down his request for lunch together. That left her lugging everything inside by herself, and for a brief moment Lucy wondered if she really needed all this clothes. Then she thought about Lockwood's many tailored suits, and Holly's pretty form-fitting dresses, and dismissed the idea of consigning all her spare skirts to the local thrift store.

Still, the taped-down cardboard boxes were easy enough to haul in. It wasn't until Lucy tried lifting the mattress by herself that she really started to resent the moving man who hightailed it.

"Hey, can someone give me a hand here? Lockwood? George? You guys here?" she called out, before remembering that they had both left earlier.

In retrospect, she should have just waited for someone to come home before attempting to move the mattress. But years of diving into mortally perilous situations had imbued Lucy with both impatience and stubborn independence. They colluded together to result in her huffing for breath as she alternated between pushing and dragging the mattress up the stairs by herself. Rivulets of sweat ran down her face and pooled in her armpits as she wrangled the mattress up the first flight. She was halfway up the second when it happened. Her foot caught against a loose floorboard, and she tripped forward. On instinct, she reached out to steady herself against the bannister-and thus, took her hands off the mattress she was holding up a second ago. It toppled, smashing against her face. Together, they tumbled down the stairs. Lucy crashed into the floor, and with a thump, the mattress landed on top of her.

At that moment, she heard the front door open.

"Hello? Anyone home?" a melodic voice called from down below. "I tried knocking, but-oh, hello, Lucy."

"Holly." Lucy tried nodding at her from beneath the mattress, but it was difficult to move her neck in her current position. "Good to see you."

"And...you." Holly was staring at her. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. Why would you think something happened?" Then Lucy blinked. "Oh. You mean this? I was just bracing the mattress against my back to get it up the stairs, that's all."

"Well, then, I guess you wouldn't need my help then?"

Uncharacteristically, a mischievous little smile tugged at the corner of Holly's mouth as she turned to leave. It struck Lucy all of a sudden how impish that made her look.

"Wait, come back!" Lucy called out. "I suppose I could use a hand lifting it off me. It's a little heavier than I thought."

Holly laughed, the sound infectious. After a moment, Lucy smiled too. There was a sudden lightness as Holly lifted the mattress up just high enough for her to shimmy out. Together, they each grabbed an end of the mattress, and crab-walked it up to the attic. By the time they made it to Lucy's room and set the mattress down on her bed, both of them were panting for breath.

"Phew! Who knew lifting a mattress would be so strenuous? Maybe we should sign up for a gym membership, get in better shape for our next job," Holly said. A mad image popped into Lucy's mind of petite little Holly at the gym, surrounded by muscular men grunting as they hefted their dumbbells. She almost giggled at the thought, but stopped as she wondered what Holly would look like with toned arms and abs.

"Is it just me, or is the room kinda hot?" Lucy asked. Without waiting for a response, she wrenched open the window. As a breeze sit her, she let out a happy sigh and flopped onto the naked mattress. After a brief moment of hesitation, Holly sat down next to her. She was so close, Lucy could smell the perfume clinging to her smooth skin, a mixture of jasmine and citrus that made her think of springtime flowers.

"So the rest of your things are downstairs?" Holly asked, just as the silence threatened to become awkward.

"Oh. Yes. Well, there's not much to bring anyway, just some clothes and mugs. You know, it's good to finally be moving back to Portland Row. I admit, I missed living somewhere with a laundry machine in the premise."

Holly made a sympathetic noise. "Even if it meant sharing it with George? I've found his socks in the dryer before when I go to put a load in."

Lucy groaned. Then she raised an eyebrow as the implications of what Holly said registered with her. "You've done laundry here before?" It came out sounding more accusatory than she meant it to. She could feel Holly stiffen beside her.

"Ah. Um, yes. Actually, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about." Was it Lucy's imagination, or did Holly's face grow a shade darker? "I've been thinking about moving into 35 Portland Row. Full-time, that is."

Lucy blinked, trying to process what she just said. "Oh. Oh."

"I know we've had our differences in the past, but I want to get to know the team better, Lucy, " Holly barrelled on, sounding like she's rehearsed the conversation in the mirror many times before. " You especially. If we're going to be working together in the future, trusting each other with our lives, I don't want any hangups to linger between us. Well, that and because my landlord just doubled my rent last month."

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions fought for dominance inside Lucy's chest at Holly's admission. Some, like her old insecurities over sharing the agency with the other girl, were familiar friends by that point, but she also felt a strange soaring sensation that she didn't want to examine too closely just then. So she said the first thing that came to mind.

"But Holly, I already trust you with my life."

Holly's face was definitely darker now. "Y-you do?"

"Of course." And Lucy discovered, to her surprise, that she meant what she said. "After Aldbury Castle, it'd be hypocritical of me not to. I mean, you came back for me and Lockwood, didn't you?"

"I suppose I did. Although that was really mostly George's idea."

"Don't be so modest. I saw you with that gun." Without realizing it, Lucy's voice had grown light and teasing. "If it hadn't been for you, Lockwood and I would've been goners."

"Oh, shush," Holly said, swatting Lucy's arm. Then she froze. Then Lucy froze. For a moment, both of them were still, as though contemplating the unexpectedly friendly gesture.

"So, erm, why didn't Lockwood or George mention anything about you moving in to me?" Lucy said, fishing for a change of subject. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I felt like they'd have tried to warn me."

"Because I asked them not to."

Lucy frowned, waiting for Holly to continue.

"I wanted a chance to tell you myself, face to face," Holly explained. "No, don't interrupt. If Lockwood or George had been the one to tell you, it'd have felt like I was trying to avoid communicating with you, and we've done enough of that. Fighting together at Rottwell's didn't change the fact that we spent a long time tiptoeing around one another, and we have to acknowledge that. Sometimes it's easier to be brave when fighting than with our feelings, don't you think?"

Lucy wanted nothing more than to run out the attic at that moment, mostly because she knew Holly was right. She had been trying, with varying degrees of success, to avoid confronting the unfamiliar mixture of emotions that rose up inside her whenever Holly was around. But now, she was trapped in the room with her, without an excuse to leave.

"I-I suppose you're right," she said, aware of how lame she sounded. "Thank you. For, you know, telling me to my face."

"No problem." Holly looked over at Lucy for the first time during their conversation. Their eyes met. Lucy wasn't sure if she had ever been in such close proximity to Holly before. She could make out a subtle smatter of freckles on the bridge of her nose, almost lost in the dark complexion of her skin. She wasn't sure if she'd ever noticed them before.

"And while we're admitting things, do you remember what I told you at that cafe in Piccadilly?"

Lucy started, breaking the spell. Holly's admission about missing her played through her mind again. If she was being honest with herself, it wasn't the first time that she had thought about that moment since. The memory of their conversation, held over the coffee-stained table while sunlight streamed softly through the windows, had lingered for a long time in Lucy's mind. She wasn't sure why she couldn't forget about it, but like an convenient ghost, it kept popping up at night when she was trying to sleep.

"Lucy? Lucy, you there?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, sorry. You were saying something about the cafe?"

"Yes. Well, you remember what I said about it feeling odd, being the only girl around?" Holly asked. Her fingers fluttered close, brushing across Lucy's hand. "Well, there's a little more to it then that…"

"What do you mean?" Lucy asked. She held her breath. Surely Holly couldn't be about to confess what Lucy thinks she's confessing.

"Well, it's actually because I like-"

The sound of a door banging close from downstairs saved her at that moment. A second later, she heard Lockwood call out, "Lucy? Holly? Anyone home?"

* * *

It turned out that Ferraby's Sabers and Swords had cut short their exhibition after one of the rapiers broke during a fencing demo. The incident, Lockwood reported, was witnessed by several critics for the Times, who no doubt would mention it in their subsequent reviews. Despite the fruitless nature of his endeavor, Lockwood seemed to be in good spirits. He fluttered around the house tidying its furnitures with a feather duster, a job which Lucy had only seen him do twice before.

"Might as well take advantage of George's absence to get some cleaning done," he explained when Lucy gave him a quizzical look.

Holly needed no further encouraging to join him. Together, they scrubbed, wiped, and moped in a campaign against grime that would rival Napoleon's rampage through Europe. Lucy seized on the thankful opportunity provided by her unopened boxes to escape. At the moment, she missed her own apartment terribly. Not that she longed for the days of leftover cartons of pad thai lying around, or her pillowcases strewn over the chairs. But she wanted nothing more than to be alone with her conflicting thoughts just then. So she excused herself from Lockwood and Holly's company, claiming that she was going to spend the afternoon in her room unpacking.

Or rather, trying to unpack. It took her maybe half an hour to get around to cutting away the tape that sealed the cardboard boxes, and another ten minutes to open them. Then they just sat there in the middle of her bedroom floor, taunting her. The thought of folding socks held no appeal to Lucy. She just wanted to lay back down on the mattress and do nothing. Do nothing except watch the sunlight trace it fingers across her walls, with a certain someone beside her who could run her soft hands through Lucy's hair…

Wait, what was she thinking? Lucy shook her head until her brain rattled inside her skull. Then she dove for her boxes and began pulling everything out with abandon. Shirts, leggings, skirts, and even a lacy pair of underwear-purchased in shame after Lucy realized that she owned only plain gray undergarments during her packing spree-went flying over her shoulders.

Just then, a series of knocks sounded against her door, too faint and polite to be coming from Lockwood.

Lucy whirled around. "One moment!" She called frantically, kicking her underwear underneath a wayward sweater. She wrenched open the door.

"Holly, what can I do for you?"

Holly stood at the doorway. Her eyes went wide as she glanced toward Lucy's shoe. "Sorry, sorry! Is this a bad time? I can come back later?"

Lucy shook her head. "It's fine. What's up?"

Was she being paranoid, or was Holly avoiding her eyes just now? "Um, I just wanted to let you know that dinner's going to be in ten minutes. Since it's your first day back, Lockwood and I thought we'd celebrate with a bit. We made some roast duck when you're ready."

Lucy blinked. "Oh. Wow. Um, thank you. I'll be right down."

Holly nodded, then fled, leaving Lucy standing alone in the doorway scratching at her head.

"I didn't know that Lockwood knew how to cook duck…" she said. Then she glanced down and noticed the lacy underwear clinging to her slippers.

* * *

Dinner that night was an awkward affair. Despite Lockwood's best attempts to draw her into conversation, Lucy ate in silence. It was her turn to be unable to meet Holly's eyes. She felt even guiltier for her awkwardness after seeing the spread that Lockwood and Holly had whipped up for her. As Holly had promised, a whole roast duck sat center stage on the table, its skin bronzed and crispy. Someone had dug out a silver gravy boat from the kitchen cabinets, and steam wafted from the hot plum sauce inside, filling the dining room with irresistible aromas. Fat chunks of golden roasted potatoes accompanied the meat, and even Holly's perfunctory salad seemed delicious at that moment. It was a far cry from the usual Chinese take-out that Lucy subsided on when she lived alone.

"George is going to be so mad that he missed this," Lockwood remarked.

"We can save him a container," Holly said. "I think we'll have enough leftovers to last us for a week."

"I seriously doubt that. I could finish this duck by myself."

"And you're welcomed to it, if it hadn't been meant for Lucy's welcome home party."

Lockwood heaved a theatrical sigh. "I suppose I must make some sacrifices for the good of the agency. But seriously, Holly, this is amazing. Where did you learn to cook like this? I'd marry in you a heartbeat if dinner's always like this."

"Oh, I just picked up the recipe from a cookbook, that's all," Holly said. "Lucy, are you feeling alright? You're gripping that steak knife awfully hard."

"Hmm? Yes, I'm fine." Lucy said shortly, trying to banish the jealousy coiled around her stomach. "Sorry. Just spaced out a little, that's all."

"That's okay. How do you like the food?"

"Oh, it's quite good, thank you," Lucy said, putting down her fork. "I'm sorry that I'm so distracted tonight. I'm not feeling very hungry. Maybe I'll put my portion in the fridge and come back down later for it."

"Oh, okay," Holly said. Even Lucy noticed the hurt in her voice. It occurred to her that if Lockwood hadn't tried Holly's food before, it must mean that she hadn't cooked for him and George much in the months when it was just the three of them at Portland Row. The thought made her feel guiltier.

"It's nothing against your cooking, though. Everything was absolutely delicious," Lucy said. "I think I might just be coming down with a little cold, that's all. Maybe that's why my appetite's not so good," she lied.

"Do you want me to make you some hot chocolate?" Holly asked, her brows pinched. Lucy shook her head, although Holly's concern made her feel strangely fuzzy inside.

"No, no, that's alright. You've done enough for me today. I think I just need to sleep this cold off, that's all. You two have a good night."

"Feel better in the morning, Lucy."

* * *

But of course, Lucy couldn't fall asleep that night. For what felt like hours, she stared up at the ceiling with her dim desk lamp turned on, looking at all the familiar cracks and stains that marred the wooden rafters. There was something that felt right about being back in her bedroom at 35 Portland Row again, as though no time had passed at all since her leaving the agency and her return to Lockwood & Co.

She tried to tell herself that was the cause of her insomnia. Months had passed since she last slept in her old bedroom at Portland Row. Maybe she had grown too used to living at the flat by herself, and the thought of sharing a house with Lockwood and George again chafed at her newfound independence. Yes, that must be it, she decided.

The words Holly said to her at the cafe returned unbidden to her thoughts again. _"Someone at Portland Row really missed you, you know...Lockwood and George are lovely, of course...but it's odd being the only girl…"_

"Oh, shut up!" Lucy growled, throwing her pillow across the room. It thumped against the wall and dropped to the floor, making her feel no better.

 _"How hurtful,"_ came a voice from her shelf. It was the skull in the jar. _"Usually you at least wait until I start talking before you tell me to shut up."_

"Don't flatter yourself," Lucy said. "Wasn't speaking to you."

The skull made a grotesque facsimile of rolling its hollow eyes. _"There's no one else here besides me. Trust me, I would know. Unless...you've finally cracked, haven't you? Started seeing ghosts where there aren't any? I'll give you credit, you lasted longer than I thought you would. I was sure you were a goner after that Raw-bones job in Soho."_

"Don't remind me of Soho," Lucy grumbled. "It took me three cycles in the wash to get the bloodstains out of my shirt."

 _"If it hadn't been for my alert, it'd have been your blood too. You're welcome for that, by the way. So, you gonna tell me what's keeping you up?"_

"Nothing's keeping me up!"

 _"Sure thing, boss. That's why you've been tossing and turning for the past hour, right? Usually it doesn't take you more than five minutes to collapse into sleep after a job. A three hundred pound assassin wearing high heels could stumble around the mess in your room and still have time to slit your throat before you wake up."_

"Don't start now."

 _"Oh, come on. Spit it out for your old pal. What's got you up at night, huh? Can't close your eyes without thinking of a certain someone now that you're back at this house? I can close my eyes and turn around if you need to take care of business."_ The skull did its best to leer suggestively at her, but, given it's a skull, the look just seemed like every other expression on its face.

Lucy sat up in bed, abandoning her attempts at sleeping for the night. "That's disgusting, you know." Then she paused. "But you're right, in a sense-"

 _"Ha!"_

"There is someone on my mind." Lucy absently played with a lock of her hair, twirling it around one finger. "Hey, have you ever wondered if your first impression of someone is wrong?"

 _"I have a feeling you have a certain special person in mind."_

"Just humor me here," Lucy said. "Let's say you've known this person for awhile, and during that time you've always had pretty strong feelings for them. But recently, something happened that made you see them in an entirely different light, and you begin to think that you were wrong about them. What do you do?"

The skull was now raising the orbital bones where its eyebrows would be if it still had skin and hair. _"Wow, could you get any more specific?"_

"Just answer the question."

 _"Fine. You want my advice?"_

"Yes!"

 _"Well, forget it. Who cares if you were wrong about someone before? People are useless bores not worth spending time worrying about, present company included. All the effort you feeling things could go towards something better, like murder."_

"Wow, I don't know why I even bothered asking you."

 _"Me neither. Why do you even need my advice, anyway? We both knew how you feel already about this certain somebody, whose name I'm guessing sounds pretty similar to Manthony Tockwood?"_

"This isn't about Lockwood!" Lucy exclaimed. The vehemence in her voice surprised her.

If it was possible, the skull's eyes widened just a millimeter. _"Oh ho ho, now this is interesting. If this isn't about Lockwood, then who?" It whirled around the jar, bouncing off the edges like a pinball. "Surely it can't be Cubbins, he's even less interesting than the queen's underwear selection. Who else? You weren't kept up all night over Holly, were you?"_

At Lucy's silence, the skull broke out a ghastly grin. _"It is Holly! You should consider seeing a therapist over your obsession with that girl, you know, or I'm going to start charging by the hour."_

"I'm not obsessed with her!" Lucy jumped out the bed and stomped across the room to fetch the pillow that she had tossed aside earlier. "Look, I'm just wondering if I was maybe wrong about her, okay?"

 _"Wrong about her, how? Did she break out in pimples? Because that's the only way you stop thinking that her skin is so perfect."_

"I do not think that her skin is perfect!" Then Lucy paused. "Wait, how do you know about that?"

 _"You talk in your sleep."_

"I do not!"

 _"Just kidding. You mention it about ten or fifteen times whenever you rant about her, actually. I'm amazed that you didn't notice. By the way, you might want to keep it down, or someone will come asking why you're shouting at the walls."_

Lucy lowered her voice. _"This isn't about her skin,"_ she hissed. _"Even if it does look like it came out of a Sephora catalogue."_

 _"Please just dump me in the Metropolitan Furnaces if you're going to start telling me about your fantasies."_ The skull said. Then it paused. _"Say, you do talk about Holly's skin a lot for someone who ostensibly hates her."_

Lucy coughed, sensing that the conversation had veered into dangerous territory. "You know what? I'm actually feeling kinda hungry. I didn't eat much for dinner tonight. I think I'm going to kip downstairs for a quick bite."

 _"You can deny it all you want, Lucy,"_ the skull called out after her. _"But even I can tell by the way that you kept going on about Holly Munro that you sound like you're in love with her!"_ Then it cackled and disappeared from the jar before Lucy could pull the lever to shut it up.

* * *

The house was dark as Lucy crept downstairs. Silver strands of moonlight sheared through the windows, casting her silhouette against the wall. The floorboards creaked beneath the weight of her feet. All was silent. As she passed Lockwood and Holly's bedrooms, she noticed that the doors were closed. If she shut her eyes, she could imagine them snoring in bed.

She didn't bother flicking on the light as she entered the kitchen. Instead, she reached her hands out, feeling the countertops with her fingertips as she treaded through the room until her hands bumped into the refrigerator. She pulled the door open, allowing the soft light from inside to illuminate the room. A waft of cold air billowed out, striking her face. Lucy squinted as she examined the fridge, her eyes lingering for a second on the chocolate bars that George had stashed in a drawer.

Instead, she pulled out a tupperware container that someone-her guess was on Holly-had marked "Leftover duck." Not bothering to grab a fork, she pulled the lid open and ripped at the cold meat with her fingers. The grease had congealed in the fridge, and the meat was no longer fresh out of the oven, but if Lucy was honest with herself, she was used to the taste of cold leftovers.

She was halfway through a drumstick when a voice interrupted her.

"Lucy?"

"Ahhh! Oh, hello Holly. Jeeze, don't sneak up on me like that. I thought you were a ghost at first. What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," Holly said, coming into the kitchen. "I guess I'd gotten used to staying up all night when we're working."

Lucy squinted, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. She could see Holly by the counter, filling up a glass at the tap. She was clad in blue polka dot pajamas, the kind with a flappy lapel that opened up at the chest. It was loosely buttoned, and Lucy could just make out the shape of something soft and round underneath. She coughed, suddenly glad for the darkness.

"Lucy, are you alright?"

"Uck! It's nothing. Just choked on a bite, that's all."

She wasn't sure, but it looked like Holly gave her a tentative smile. "Well, I should leave you to your dinner and go back to bed." She turned to leave.

"No, wait," Lucy called out, surprising herself. "If you also can't sleep, want to join me for a bit?"

Holly hesitated. Lucy patted the spot next to her, and after a moment, Holly also sat down on the floor, crossing her legs.

"So how does it feel, being back at Portland Row?" Holly asked. "You should tell me about what cases you've been up to while you were freelancing. I'm sure the papers don't get the details quite right."

Lucy started at the admission that Holly had been following her in the paper, even though she had done the same with Lockwood & Co's case. "Oh, you know how work is like," she said, keeping her tone light. "It's a lot of the same old. Scoping out the area, laying down chains, almost having a heart attack or two anyway when the manifestation appears."

Holly laughed. It was a pleasant sound that sent tingles down Lucy's spine. "Well, it must have been quite different going solo."

"I never was quite alone. Accompanied by a bunch of buffoons most of the time, yes, but not alone."

"Sounds dreadful."

"Honestly, sometimes I wished I could go into it alone, even though I know how stupid that is," Lucy confessed. "But after working at Lockwood & Co, no other agents seem to measure up. It's hard to trust someone else to have my back the same way."

"Even though being at Lockwood & Co meant working with me?" Holly asked. Her voice was light and teasing, but Lucy could sense the seriousness underneath.

"Especially if it meant working with you," Lucy said earnestly. "Look, I've been thinking over things ever since our conversation this morning. And, well, I suppose I owe you an apology for all the grief I've given you." She paused, trying to find the right words for it. Holly, perhaps sensing her inner struggles, was silent. "To be honest, it wasn't so hard to work with strangers when I'm freelancing because I don't care about them too much. Me, George, and especially Lockwood all care too much about this agency in our own ways, and that can make us blind." It was difficult to speak, but Lucy plowed on on anyway. "The three of us had been together for so long, it was hard for me when Lockwood hired you without saying anything about it to me. It felt like my opinion didn't matter to him, and I guess I was afraid of things changing in the agency when you arrived."

There was a pregnant pause when she finished. Holly didn't say anything for a few minutes, just sat there sipping her water. Lucy didn't dare look at her.

"You like him a lot, don't you?"

"Who, Lockwood? Yeah. I mean, it's kind of hard to not, with his charisma and all. I bet most of the girls he meets fancy him. Just, you know, not me," Lucy added hastily.

Holly chuckled. "Not me either. That'd make things even more complicated than it already is." She put the cup down by her side. "After I left the Fittes agency, I was adrift for a long time. Here I was, with top grades in all my exams, always the one my parents and teachers expected to do well, out of a job with the most respectable agency in the country." She gave a delicate little shudder. "But I couldn't lie to myself anymore. It was a terrible place to work. It wasn't easy for me to transition to a small unknown agency, but I thought I'd try." She turned around to look at Lucy now, her eyes bright. "You didn't make it easy for me, Lucy. I felt like an outsider at Lockwood & Co for a long time. No matter how hard I tried, I didn't know what I was doing wrong to upset it. I couldn't understand how to fit in."

She said everything in a matter-of-fact voice, but the look on her face gave away how she really felt all those months. Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat, not daring to speak.

"Just wanted you to know that you weren't the only one who had a hard time with me joining the agency, I suppose," Holly said. "Sorry if that got a little too heavy there for a second."

Lucy shook her head. "No, you're right. I've been a giant prat to you, and I deserved that telling off." She sat there for awhile, wrestling with the guilt in her stomach. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was wrong in every way possible. You belong here every bit as much as me or George or Lockwood. Heck, you're technically my senior agent, since I rejoined after you," Lucy said, trying for a weak joke to lighten the mood. "Beside, you can clean, organize things, and as we found out tonight, actually cook. Lockwood adores you."

Holly shook her head. "You don't get it, do you, Lucy Carlyle?" she asked. "It wasn't Lockwood's approval that I wanted all this time. It was yours."

Lucy's mouth dropped open in a little "oh" of surprise. She stared at Holly, thunderstruck at her admission, the plastic container of leftover duck forgotten by her side.

Holly stood up, stretching her limbs out. As she did so, her pajamas rode up to give Lucy a glimpse of her naval. Lucy averted her gaze, but Holly didn't seem to notice. She walked over to the sink, putting away her glass.

"It's getting quite late. I suppose we should get some sleep while it's still dark."

"Yeah. We should, shouldn't we?" Lucy said. Then she forced down the lump in throat. "Hey, Holly?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm actually not feeling that sleepy. I think I'm gonna make myself a cup of hot chocolate and go out into the balcony, maybe look at the stars for a bit. D-do you want to join me?"

At that, Holly broke out into a wide smile, the sort that sent Lucy's stomach into all sorts of flip-flops. "I'd like that a lot."

Lucy went over to a drawer, fumbling with the cocoa powder in a vain attempt to quash the increasingly tender feelings she got while standing next to Holly. She was glad that the darkness hid how much her hands shook as she warmed the milk and stirred in the cocoa, splattering drops of the liquid onto the counter as she poured it into two mugs. She cupped the sides with her hands, blowing away the steam that wisped over the top, and handed one to Holly. As Holly reached out to take it, her fingers brushed against Lucy's for just a moment. A warmth that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate spread across her hand, then faded as Holly retracted her arm.

"Shall we?" Holly asked.

Lucy nodded. Then she remembered to run into the living and grab two blankets from the couches. Together, she and Holly headed over the balcony, Holly holding open the door for her like some chivalrous knight in a storybook wooing a lady. Then Lucy blinked, berating herself for reading too much into the gesture.

The air outside was crisp and cold, ladened with the scent of lavender that drifted in from the garlands people hung to ward off unwelcomed ghosts. Lucy shivered as she stepped onto the balcony, suddenly wishing that she was wearing more than her thin pajamas. She laid a blanket on the floor and sat down, letting out a happy sigh as she leaned against the wall.

A second later, Holly scooted next to her. To Lucy's surprise, Holly leaned against her shoulder and draped a blanket over both of them, taking care not to get its tasseled fringes into their mugs of hot chocolate. Lucy stiffened at the contact. All at once, her brain registered a hundred and one things: the softness of Holly's body pressed against hers, those strands of perfect straight hair that she had always been jealous of falling across her shoulders, the scent of apple skin lotion that she must have used in the shower. They were nestled so close together that Lucy was sure Holly could hear her heart pounding.

But it was close enough that Lucy could tell Holly was also a bit tense. She seemed to waver on something for a moment, before leaning her head against Lucy's shoulder, doing so slowly as if asking for permission. When Lucy didn't move away, she relaxed.

Lucy's mouth went dry at the physical contact. She took a long drink from her mug, willing her body to calm down. But as they settled in, the urge to squirm around overtook Lucy.

If Holly was fidgety at all, she didn't show it. She seemed content to tilt her head up and observe the stars. They were pinpricks of silvery light against the inky blackness of the sky, shining faintly through the industrial smog that rose up from the London factories. Lucy watched them shimmer, trying to remember the constellations that she had learned about in her grade school science class, but nothing came to mind.

After a moment, Holly shifted against her. "Did you go out to watch the stars a lot when you were living by yourself?" she asked.

Lucy nodded. "Sometimes, when I need to calm down after getting home from a haunting," she said. "Or missing everyone at Portland Row. I'd go out onto the fire escape and look over the rails. The view of the area nearby was pretty crummy, just an industrial boiler and the ironworks, but I could sometimes see the stars on the clear night. I'd watch them and wonder if you guys are out in the city somewhere chasing down a cold maiden."

"Sounds like a good way to spend an evening," Holly said.

"What about you?" Lucy asked. "You don't strike me as the stay-up late type. I hear not getting enough sleep will give you wrinkles earlier." Mentally, Lucy kicked herself from thinking about Holly's skin again.

"Oh, I'm usually not," Holly said. "I guess everyone's bad habits have been rubbing off on me. It's so hard not to stress eat after a job when there's a cookie jar out in the kitchen. Maybe we should start filling it something healthier, like oatmeal cookies."

"Don't you dare," Lucy said in horror. "I'll be happy to eat your portion for you if you don't want them, but don't you even think about replacing perfectly good chocolate chip cookies with oatmeal."

"Fine, fine. How about a nice gluten-free variety? There's a brand I like that's made with soy butter."

Lucy let out a keen wail of distress, before a look at Holly's face made her realize that she was joking. She groaned.

"I can't believe I actually thought you like gluten-free cookies."

"They're actually not that bad. They stocked them at the Fittes break room when I worked there."

"Another reason why they're infinitely inferior to Lockwood & Co."

"I'll drink to that," Holly said, and clinked her mug against Lucy's.

They sat sipping their drinks in silence. To Lucy's surprise, her hot chocolate had grown cold during their conversation, which must have gone on longer than she thought. She realized that she had lost track of the time while in Holly's company, and had no idea how long it would be until the sunrise.

After a moment, they both put down their cups. Holly sat upright, taking her head off Lucy's shoulders. Immediately, Lucy found herself missing the weight of it against her.

"Hey, Lucy?"

"Yeah?"

"I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"We don't have any cases tomorrow, right?"

"I think so. You'd know better than me, why?"

"Well, I was wondering-" Holly hesitated. "What do you picture happening on a perfect day off? We get so little time off now that the agency's grown so popular. When you get day free like tomorrow, what would be your ideal way to spend it?"

Lucy shrugged, thinking over the question. "I dunno. I've been invested in this job for so long, it's hard for me to say." She scratched her head, trying to find something interesting that she does in her personal life. To her embarrassment, nothing came to mind. "I'll probably order a greasy pizza and lay in bed all day. Maybe sketch a bit or read the gossip magazines."

The corner of Holly's lips quirked up. "That doesn't sound too bad too me."

"Don't lie. It makes it sound like I have no life outside of my job," Lucy said. Which is true, she thought, but didn't say. Thankfully, Holly didn't remark on it either.

"What about you, Miss Perfect?" Lucy asked. "What do you do in your free time, model for shampoo commercials?"

Holly elbowed her in the side. "I do not!"

"Well, you should. You're certainly pretty enough." Then Lucy froze as she realized what she said.

"Oh. Er, thanks," Holly stammered. After an awkward pause, she spoke up again. "Actually, I like to go to the Kew Botanical Gardens. It's really comforting, walking around all the flowers and plants, and there's always something to see every season."

"That's the most you thing I can think of," Lucy said, laughing.

"Oh, shut up." Holly elbowed her again.

"No, seriously. It's not like that's a bad thing though. At least you're getting out of the house."

"Yeah." Holly looked deep in thought. "Hey, Lucy?"

"What's up now?"

Holly paused, as if gathering her courage to ask something. Lucy waited, recognizing the signs of Holly wanting to say something serious by now.

"I was thinking of going to the gardens tomorrow afternoon, and I was wondering-well-do you actually want to come with me?"

Lucy started to tell her sure, when the implications of what Holly was asking her-or at least, what Lucy hoped Holly was asking her-sank in. She opened and closed her mouth dumbly for a minute.

"I understand if it's not your thing," Holly added, interpreting Lucy's silence for indecision. "But I figured if you haven't seen the gardens yet, they're nice to visit for a day trip. You can also bring your sketchbook and pencils if you want."

"I-yeah, sure, I'd love to go," Lucy stuttered, finding her voice again. "Yeah. That sounds fantastic."

"Great!" Holly beamed at her, dimples visible even in the darkness. "We can head out around two then! That should give us plenty of time."

"Yeah...yeah…" Lucy said, still in a mild state of shock.

Holly stood, picking up the blanket and her empty mug. "Well, now that's settled, I guess I'd better get some sleep, or I'll have a hard time waking up tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow, Lucy," she said. And then, just before she went inside, she winked at Lucy.

For a good five minutes, Lucy sat by herself out in the balcony with her mouth hanging open, their conversation replaying itself in her head. Her emotions were doing physically implausible gymnastics in her stomach, the sort that made her feel woozy and lightheaded. Despite snuggling under a blanket for the past hour or so, adrenaline was racing through her body. The only other times she had ever experienced a high like this, she realized, was after escaping with her life from a ghost. And now Holly had created the same heartstopping feelings with just a few words and a wink.

"Oh, fuck," Lucy muttered as the pieces finally clicked in place. "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

* * *

Whatever plans Lucy had for sleep that night were blown to bits after her conversation with Holly. For an hour after she left, Lucy stayed on the balcony, not moving from her nest of blankets. They felt much colder now that Holly had gone, but Lucy welcomed the chance to be alone with her thoughts. The night air was starting to make her shiver, and she had long since finished her hot chocolate. And still, she couldn't get Holly out of her head. After the initial surge of adrenaline had faded, the only thing remaining in the pit of her stomach was a growing nervousness.

The source of it, Lucy knew, stemmed from their coming trip to the Kew Gardens. But unlike a bone fragment or a scrap of cloth that begets a visitor, Lucy couldn't destroy this source as easily. No sooner had Holly gone than Lucy began turning over every word of their conversation. Her questions seemed impossible to answer. Did Holly like her? Was she asking her out on a dating? Lucy just wasn't sure, and not knowing was driving her crazy.

She couldn't remember the first time they were alone together other than today. Whenever they had spent time together, it was always in a group with Lockwood and George: out scoping out a house, perhaps, or scribbling out plans on the kitchen table, or sharing a meal together. Up until now, Lucy had always tried to avoid finding herself in situations where she could be caught alone with the other girl. She had convinced herself it was due to residue insecurities from her past arguments with Holly, but if she was being honest, those ill feelings had mostly faded since Aldbury Castle. In their place was...what? A simmering cauldron of uncertainty and anxiety that she didn't understand the source of. Until now, that is.

She had just managed to convince herself that Holly meant nothing more by her invitation to the gardens than a simple afternoon hangout by the time the sky started to brighten. Slowly but surely, the first tendrils of light began to break through the clouds. The world was beautifully still, too early for even the birds to wake, as the sun traced the first outline of white against the horizon.

Lucy watched the sunrise until the sky had grown fully covered with red and orange streaks. Then she wrapped the blankets around her shoulders, picked up her mug, and went inside. The house was silent save for the soft ticking of a grandfather clock in the living room. There was no one in the kitchen yet, and Lucy preoccupied herself with the calming routine of brewing tea. When she finished, she poured a generous measure for herself and cupped it carefully in her hands, taking care not to splash herself with the boiling liquid as she brought it to the table.

She was halfway through drinking it when the sound of a key turning in the front door broke her out of her reverie. There was a click, then the door swung open to reveal George at the entrance. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, and his face had the pinched, haggard look of someone who stayed up all night riding the first train back to London.

"Morning, Lucy," he said. "You're up awfully early today."

"Can't sleep. You're back quicker than I thought you'd be."

He grunted. "Got in a row with my mum. She wanted me to quit the agency, come back home to take over the family shop. Said there was no future in it when I get a bit older. Course, I told her to sod off, and that didn't go over too well."

Lucy made a little "ahh" of sympathy.

"So I figured instead of spending the night, I'd rather be back at Portland Row. Less hassle, and I thought if I was around, that'd stop Lockwood from trying so hard to get himself killed. Is that Earl Grey I smell?"

"Yeah. You want me to pour you a cup?"

George nodded. In short order, he had abandoned his backpack in a corner and joined Lucy at the table, a mug of his own in hand.

"So, what about you?" he asked once he got settled in. "Why're you up so early without looking like someone murdered your dog?"

"Couldn't sleep, I guess."

George squinted at Lucy in disbelief. "On your day off? Usually we'd be lucky to get a full seven hours."

Lucy shrugged. "Guess I had a lot on my mind. Work and stuff. Look, it's complicated," she added defensively at George's look.

"Suit yourself. I still think you're mad."

Lucy sighed. "Yeah. To tell you the truth, I haven't felt all there today."

To her surprise, George looked at her with actual concern. "Anything wrong? It's not that skull, is it?"

"Hmm? No, he's his usual annoying self. I'm used to that by now."

"Then what?"

Lucy hesitated.

"Come on," George prodded. "You can tell me."

"I'm not really sure myself. It's complicated," Lucy said, repeating herself. "Hey, can I ask your advice on something?"

George grunted. "Sure thing. You've got me curious now."

"And can I ask you to keep it private?"

"Okay, I'm definitely curious now."

"I'm serious, George," Lucy said. "Can you not tell anyone about it? Even Lockwood?"

George frowned. "I'm not sure how much I like the idea of keeping secrets from him."

"It's not work related. Come on, it's about my personal life. He doesn't need to know."

"Alright, fine. As long as it doesn't affect the agency. Now spill."

Lucy braced herself. "Okay. Well. Have you ever dated anyone?"

George raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted."

"Just answer the question."

"For your information, yes."

"Who?"

"No one you knew. What's this about?"

Lucy was silent for a moment, staring at her knees. "I-I think I like someone. Like, really like them. And I think they like me back. And they asked me to go out on a day trip with them. Only, the thing is, I'm not sure if they meant it as a date or not."

When she looked at George again, he seemed pensive. To her relief, he wasn't smirking or anything.

"I don't really see what the problem is," he said after a minute.

Lucy let out a groan of frustration. "What do I do if it's a date? Do I hold their hand? Do I offer to pay for food? How do I act?"

George shrugged. "How do you always act around this person? Just do that."

Lucy winced. "To be honest, we...haven't always gotten along so well. I insulted her a lot, actually."

"Oh. Well, scratch that then. Just act natural. And buy them lots of donuts. Everyone loves a good donut."

"She doesn't," Lucy muttered.

"Wait, she?"

Lucy frozen, her face a perfect facsimile of the expression she made the time Lockwood caught her stealing from the cookie jar after a particularly stressful night. George, in contrast, was grinning with glee.

"So, who is it? It can't be Flo, right? I bet it's Flo. You guys seemed to get on well. Maybe you can take her to a thrift store."

Lucy dropped her head into her hands. "No, I don't like Flo."

"Thank god. It's not Kat Godwin, is it? You two would make a terrible couple."

"I don't think she's that bad looking," Lucy said. At George's aghast expression, she smiled. "But no, it's not Kat."

"Then what other girl do you know besides Holly?"

Lucy suddenly couldn't meet George's eyes. Her face was burning. She heard him suck in a short breath.

"Wait, you can't be serious." George sounded as though he just learned that ghosts weren't real. "You actually like Holly?"

Lucy groaned, dropping her head down against the kitchen table.

"What do you guys even have in common? When did this even happen?" George's voice was heavy with disbelief. "Well, I guess it's better than Godwin at least. She's a lot prettier for sure."

"I know! She's so pretty," Lucy moaned. "Like, it's unfair for any one human being to be that inconceivably pretty."

"Unbelievable," George said. "All this time you've been gripping about Holly Munro, and it's because you've had a crush on her?"

Lucy flushed, thinking back to all the occasions which she found Holly elegant to the point of being insufferable. "It's not all this time, George. God, you make it sound like I'm obsessed with her."

"Yeah, because you couldn't shut up about her. Why didn't I see it before? It's so obvious now, she's in your head." George took a triumphant sip from his cup with his pinkie stuck out in a mocking salute. His eyes glittered in amusement as they peered at Lucy over the rim. "You're just like a twelve-year-old boy constantly making fun of his crush, honestly."

"Oh, shut up." Lucy rubbed her head. "What am I going to do, though?"

"Have you tried talking to her about your feelings?"

Lucy glared at him with enough venom to scare a ghost off. "What do you think?"

George, to his credit, remain undeterred. "Well, I hear that can be a good way to start a relationship."

"I'm not good at talking to people, George!" Lucy exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.

"You don't have to tell me," he muttered. She ignored him.

"I mean, for God's sake, you and Lockwood are my only friends! Well, you guys and the evil skull of a dead murderer."

"Thanks a lot, Lucy. Now I really want to help you."

"Oh, don't look at me like that. You know it's true."

"Yeah, clearly it means you should go out more."

"Look who's talking. You're holed up all day with Rottwell's rubbish. At least I'm going to the gardens this afternoon with Holly."

George snorted. "Yeah, lord knows why she'd ask you after the way you've treated her."

At his words, Lucy's face dropped in dismay. "Do you think she still holds a grudge over that?"

George shrugged. "I would. But then again, that girl picks out all the bacon bits from her salads, so she's probably closer to sainthood than I am. If what you said is true, she did want you along, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts. If you guys are going together, just make a date of it regardless of what she meant. Maybe you'll get lucky and she'll trip and get amnesia and forget about all the times you passive-aggressively took her laundry out of the dryer before they were done."

"You're really not helping."

"Oh come on, stop looking like a kicked puppy. I'll tell Holly you're sorry and that you did it cuz you wanted to lick melted chocolate off her body myself if it'll stop you from moping about it all day."

Lucy stared at him in abject horror. "You wouldn't dare!"

George rubbed his glasses on his shirt, the way Lucy see him do it when he's absolutely serious about something. "You know I would. So you'd better apologize to her yourself before I tell her." He stood up, pushing his cup aside. "Now, I've been up all night, and I'm knackered, so I'm gonna catch some sleep. You have a good time at the gardens now."

* * *

After George left, Lucy finally dragged herself to bed. As soon as her head touch the pillow, the exhaustion from staying up all night hit her like an angry spirit. The adrenaline drained out of her body in an instant, leaving in its wake a fatigue that seeped into her very bones. She fumbled with the alarm by her bed, punching in a number that would still give her a solid four hours, then managed to pull the blankets over her body before her eyelids drooped shut and sleep claimed her in its tight embrace.

 _She was standing in the driveway of Portland Row, her hair limp and wet. The sky was cloudy with the promise of an impending storm. She yawned, rubbing her eyes with her hands. Then she noticed that something felt wet._

 _"What the hell?"_

 _She pulled her hands away, noticing that they were covered in blood. She looked down. The nightgown she wore was sheer and stained crimson too._

 _"What's going on?!"_

 _"I thought it was me you loved, Lucy…"_

 _She whirled around. Lockwood's ghost was standing behind her, still dressed in his usual dapper suit, though his hair looked worse for wear. His whole body was translucent. The outline of what looked like a metal wire hanger was protruding from his neck._

 _"Lockwood! What happened?"_

 _"You killed me, Lucy. How could you do this?"_

 _Holly walked by them, holding the skull in the ghost jar underneath one arm. She had ringed the top of the jar with a lively flower crown. As she passed, the skull turned to look at Lucy._

 _"Way to mess up, Lucy. You couldn't even kill the right person with that coat hanger. I thought we were pals, but I guess I'm going with Holly instead. Her skin looks so much nicer than yours."_

 _Someone yanked her wrists back, snapping a pair of handcuffs over them. It was Inspector Barnes, his graying mustache hanging over his lips like a furry rat._

 _"I always knew you were a troublemaker, Carlyle. And now you're a murderer. As punishment, you'll be hung by the neck until dead, and your skull turned into an artifact for posh ghost collectors. Do you have anything to say for yourself before I take you away?"_

 _"I didn't do it, I swear! Holly? Lockwood?"_

 _Holly and the skull were shaking their head in sync. "Sorry Lucy, but I hear it's not too bad to be trapped in a jar. Does this mean I can move into your old bedroom?"_

 _"Wait, Holly, please! I never meant that make fun of you for eating salads! Holly, help!"_

The shrill scream of an alarm clock cut through Lucy's skull. She bolted upright, panting. Sunlight streamed softly through the windows, and the view outside was bright and blue. After a moment, she realized that she was panting.

She waited a second for her heart to calm down before glancing over at the clock. It read one fifty, ten minutes before she was due to meet Holly for their trip.

"Oh, shit!"

She jumped out of bed, dashing for the bathroom. Heavy bags hung under her eyes, and her hair was a mess. She splashed some hot water over her face and hair, blinking as it woke her up. Then she grabbed the comb, tugging it over the most stubborn of her tangled knots. For a second, she wavered over her makeup box, unsure of how much to put on. Upon unscrewing her eyeliner bottle, however, she realized that the tip had become dried and caked from age. It went into the trashcan. Finally, she decided on just a touch of blush on each cheek. She haphazardly dabbed them on, then growled in frustration when the brush deposited two large pink dots that turned her face into a clown's. Another precious minute passed as she frantically splashed more water over her face to wash off her makeup.

Back she went into her bedroom, tossing out clothes left and right from her closet. She dug through her sock drawer in desperate search of a pair of tights that weren't ripped, finding one tucked away in the very back only after she threw out everything else. None of her skirts seemed quite right-they were all either too plain or Holly had seen her wear them before-so she gave up and just picked out her favorite one, a solid black piece that fit just a bit too snugly over her backside. A white button-down, her only unwrinkled one, went over her chest. She examined herself in the mirror, thinking that she looked too much like she was going to an interview. But she had nothing else to wear, and it was already two fifteen.

Lucy sprinted downstairs, banging the kitchen door behind her as she crashed into the downstairs living room. Holly was already there, standing by the door. She was wearing a pair of slim trousers and a chunky cashmere sweater, over which she had layered a patterned Burberry scarf. It might have been Lucy's imagination, but her lips looked glossier, her lashes just a touch longer as they fluttered seductively over her dark doe eyes. It was just enough makeup that Lucy couldn't tell if Holly was dressed for a date or just a nice day out. But even though she had seen the other girl wear similar outfits a hundred times before, her cheeks still flushed at the sight.

"Sorry I'm late," Lucy said, trying to cover up the warmth threatening to overtake her face.

Holly smiled at her, showing white teeth. "That's alright. You look cute."

If Lucy wasn't blushing before, she definitely was now. "T-thanks. You too."

"Ready?" Again, Holly opened the door for Lucy to go through first. Lucy did so, trying not to stumble over the doorway in front of her.

It was a short subway ride to the gardens. The trains were loosely packed on a Sunday afternoon. Without their battered duffle bags and signature rapiers, Lucy and Holly blended in with the crowd. Together, they looked like two ordinary girls out on a brunch date, and the thought filled Lucy with pleasure.

When they arrived at the gardens, paying for the tickets turned out to be another unforeseen challenge. Lucy dawdled back as they approached the cashier in a little steel booth, unsure of how to handle this. Holly, on the other hand, went straight up and asked for two tickets, brushing aside Lucy's protests and attempts to hand her a few crumpled bills.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I was the one to invite you along, anyway."

Which meant, of course, that Lucy just worried even more about it.

She had to admit, though, that the Kew Gardens were beautiful. Everywhere they went, there were colorful flower beds scattered over the grounds, brimming with all varieties of roses and hydrangeas and orchids and other, more exotic varieties that Lucy did not recognize. Dew drops clung to their petals, and she could hear the hum of bees in the air. Everywhere as far as the eyes could see there was green in the form of shrubs and grass and leafy treetops, and Lucy thought she could understand why Holly liked it there. Among the dainty red leaves of a Japanese maple and the pointed needles of black pine trees, she felt like she was a thousand miles removed from London.

They walked at a sedated pace, pausing every so often to look at the little brass plaques that explained the provenance of each plant. Holly seemed to know where she was going, and Lucy was content to follow her lead. She took them to humid greenhouses where the still ponds were carpeted with discs of green lilypads, glass courts full of towering palm trees that allowed Lucy to imagine she was lost in an eastern desert like Victorian explorers of old, and even a walkway that threaded through the canopy of trees, high enough that she could almost reach out and touch their leaves. Lucy regretted not bringing her sketchbook, thinking of all the things she could draw with a pencil and a little more time.

"It's really beautiful out here," she told Holly, and was surprised to find that she really meant it. "I didn't think walking around a bunch of plants would be my kind of thing, but I'm really glad you brought me today."

"I'm glad you came along," Holly said. "I've been here by myself so many times before, it's nice to be able to share it with someone."

"Well, I'm officially a convert." Lucy glanced around the path they were on, finding few people around. She wasn't surprised. The gardens were so big, she knew she couldn't see it all in just one day, and the lateness of the year meant that the cold weather acted as a deterrent. "Do you think Lockwood and George would like it here?"

"I doubt it, but I've never tried asking them," Holly said. The knowledge that she hadn't chosen to share the gardens with them made Lucy smile. "I can't see them caring much about this place, except maybe for some of the lavender that you find growing around here."

"Their loss, then. There's so much else to see."

"Yeah. I always did like seeing the lavender bushes though. It's comforting, in a way, how something so small can help keep us safe from visitors. And it's so common too, enough that people just take its presence for granted. But it makes me think that if something like lavender can exist out in nature, then the world must be looking out for us in some way even during the Problem."

Lucy wasn't sure what to say in response to that. Holly gave her a rueful smile.

"Sorry, that was a little too serious, wasn't it?"

"No, I don't mind. I never quite thought of it like that." Lucy looked around the flowerbeds again, casting an appreciative glance at them. "I guess I've always just figured a flower's just a flower, you know?"

Holly laughed. "I can see what you mean. Still, they always feel very romantic to me."

Lucy froze at her choice of words. "What do you mean?"

"Well, in the past people were more repressed. So a lot of Victorians would give each other flowers when they couldn't say what they wanted to outright. Like roses for love, or forget-me-nots for remembrance, or even violets something more taboo, like passion between two women." She paused, looking nervous. "I guess I liked the idea a lot, having these gestures to communicate your true feelings to someone when you don't have the right words."

The air was heavy with unspoken intent. Lucy was silent, her heart hammering in her chest at the implications of Holly's words.

"So which one's your favorite?" she blurted out, desperate to dispel the awkwardness that had bloomed between them.

Holly looked surprised, and perhaps a little disappointed. She appeared to think over the question. "Probably violets. They're so dainty and elegant. I think they're the most beautiful things in the world."

"I don't know about that. I can think of a few other things," Lucy said, giving her a significant look.

After all, there's the sight of Holly with that gun trying to rescue her and Lockwood at Rottwell's, Holly with a pair of reading glasses perched over her nose as she sat engrossed in her copy of Pride and Prejudice, Holly just out the shower with her hair still damp and beads of water still clinging to her skin…

"So what's your favorite, then?" Holly asked, jerking Lucy out of her thoughts. Lucy flushed, realizing that her face at grown hot again during her daydream.

"Oh. Um. Well, I think it's probably those over there," she said, pointing at a cluster of inconspicuous greenish-white flowers that blossomed amidst the glossy leaves and unripe berries of a holly tree.

Silence followed her words. Lucy kept her gaze resolutely turned toward the flowers that she just pointed at. A moment later, she felt Holly reach out and take her hand. It was a small, easy gesture, but the single point of contact with her warm skin monopolized all of Lucy's attention.

Slowly, she turned to look at Holly. Their eyes met. The look in Holly's eyes were so tender, Lucy felt her knees go weak on the spot.

"That's sweet," Holly murmured, her voice so soft Lucy almost didn't hear her. Her lips parted just ever so slightly, Lucy's gaze following the movement. Her throat went dry at the sight. She opened her mouth, no doubt to say something that would ruin the moment, but Holly shushed her with a finger against her lips. Then she tiptoed up, bringing her face up so close that Lucy could feel her warm breath as she exhaled, and pressed her lips softly against Lucy's.

There was a split second of shock as their mouths met. Then Lucy's eyes fluttered close in pleasure as Holly pressed harder into her. She wondered if it was possible to experience something akin to the opposite of being ghost-touched, when the feeling of another person against you was so warm, it filled you with life.

Then Holly pulled back to take a breath, before leaning forward to give Lucy another kiss. This one was lighter, a teasing brush of her lips against Lucy's that had Lucy aching with need. Their next kiss was more urgent, their mouths colliding fully as they both attempted to bring themselves as close to the other person as they could. Holly drew her arms up, making Lucy gasp as her fingers snaked through Lucy's hair and tugged her head deeper into their kiss.

"Took you long enough," Holly whispered when they drew away for space. Her breathing was a little ragged, and her skin had definitely gone a shade darker.

"I wanted to earlier, but I wasn't sure," Lucy said. Despite only kissing a few times, she felt lightheaded. She resisted the urge to pinch herself. If she was dreaming, she wanted it to last a few moments longer.

"I thought I made it pretty obvious," Holly said, reaching up to trace a finger against the ridge of Lucy's collarbone. Goosebumps erupted where her fingertip touched Lucy's body. "It was all I could do to stop myself from kissing you on the balcony yesterday."

Lucy bit her lower lip. "I wish you had. But I didn't even figure my own feelings out until after you went to bed last night."

Holly frowned. "Really? But I'd thought that you liked me for weeks now."

That made Lucy flush all over. She buried her face in her hands, but she didn't have to look in a mirror to know that the red extended all the way up to the tip of her ears. "Not you too. Did everyone else knew before I did?"

"Probably," Holly said, laughing. "You were always staring at me when you think I'm not looking. At first I thought you just hated me. But then I heard the way you started to stammer when I talk to you, and then I wasn't so sure."

"I tried to ignore my emotions for a long time," Lucy admitted. "I was always terrible with facing them. It's too bad you couldn't have told me about this earlier. Then we could've saved a lot of time spent bickering."

Holly reached a hand out, cupping it against Lucy's warm cheeks. "You never were good at hiding your feelings, Lucy Carlyle. Lucky for me," she said fondly. "But don't worry. I intend to make up for all the time we lost, and you're just going to have to accept that." Then she drew Lucy close for another kiss.

* * *

Author's Note: I hope you sinners liked the story! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) If you did, please leave a comment or a thumbs up; it means a lot to me. Thank you guys for reading.


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